The Wye below Tintern--Banagor Crags--Lancaut--Piercefield
Bay--Chepstow--Ancient and modern bridge--Chepstow Castle--Roger de
Britolio--Romance of history--Chepstow in the civil wars--Marten the
regicide.
The Wye being now a tide river, time requires to be studied by the
traveller who would see it in its beauty or grandeur. The shores must be
hidden by the full stream, and the overhanging woods fling their shadow
as before over the glancing waters. Some bargain for the moon, to silver
the tree tops, and send her angel-visitings through the vistas of
foliage. But the truth is, before reaching this point we have become the
spoiled children of nature; we have grown fastidious in our admiration,
and would criticise perfection itself.
With the one drawback of the sludginess of the shores at ebb water, the
Wye below Tintern is as worthy of our homage as ever. But it may be,
that the romance of its rocks and woods impending over the current, and
the deep stillness of the scene, broken only by the rippling sound of its
flow, may harmonize _too_ closely with the holy solitude we have left.
Our sensations are uninterrupted; we carry with us the ruins and their
associations; the mouldering abbey glides upon the stream before us; and
the recesses of the rocks, and deep paths of the woods, are peopled with
the spectres of the monastery. Thus we have no new impressions to mark
our progress, and one of the finest parts of the river escapes almost
without notice.
There is notwithstanding much variety in this part of our course. The
reaches are short; the banks steep, sometimes overhanging in naked
precipices, sometimes waving with romantic woods; while numerous narrow
promontories intercept the view, and cut the scene into separate
pictures. Banagor Crags, on the left, form a stupendous wall of cliff,
extending for a considerable distance, without presenting anything in
themselves to relieve the eye, except here and there some recesses or
small shrubs, painting their interstices. But, as if aware of the
disadvantage even of a sublime uniformity, nature has spread upon the
opposite side a scene incomparable for richness and variety. A bright
green sward, broken into narrow patches, swells upwards from the water's
edge, till it is lost in acclivities mantled with woods; and rising from
the ridge of these, a mass of perpendicular rock towers aloft to the
height, as it is computed, of eight hundred feet, overhung with shaggy
thickets.
We now turn the peninsula of Lancaut, which comes sloping down from
Tiddenham Chase, till it terminates in fertile meadows; and, on the
right, rise from the water's edge, with a kind of fantastic majesty, the
Piercefield cliffs, capped with magnificent woods. Twelve projecting
masses of these rocks have received the names of the twelve apostles, and
a thirteenth is called St. Peter's Thumb. While wondering where this
will end, we sweep round another point, and find ourselves in Piercefield
Bay. To the right a line of perpendicular cliffs is still seen, but
crowned instead of trees with an embattled fortress; which, for a moment,
might seem to have been cut out of the rock. The view is closed by a
range of red cliffs, with the magnificent iron bridge of Chepstow
spanning the river. This is the last of the great views _on_ the Wye;
and if seen under favorable circumstances of time and tide, it is one of
the finest.
[Picture: Chepstow]
Chepstow stands on the side of an acclivity, overlooked itself on all
sides by loftier hills, so that from every part of the town a different
view is obtained. Approaching it from the road which leads from the New
Passage, this position, owing to the singularity of a part of the higher
ground, gives the scene a very peculiar appearance. Nothing is seen but
the red cliffs of the Wye, and the tall masts of the shipping rising
among them; and it is not till close at hand that the houses appear,
shelving down to the river. Archdeacon Coxe observes, that he has seldom
visited any town whose picturesque situation surpassed that of Chepstow;
and according to Mr. Wyndham, another traveller in this district, "the
beauties are so uncommonly excellent, that the most exact critic in
landscape would scarcely wish to alter a position in the assemblage of
woods, cliffs, ruins, and water." Among these features, the Wye and its
banks are conspicuous. The ridge of cliff on the left bank below the
bridge is remarkable both for its form and variety of colouring; while,
on the opposite bank above, the gigantic remains of the castle,
stretching along the brink of the precipice, give an air of romance to
the picture, not frequently found in one of the crowded haunts of men.
The bridge is of cast iron, and was completed only in 1816. There are
five arches, resting on stone piers; but although in reality a massive
structure, it has the air of lightness, when viewed from the river, which
iron bridges usually possess. The old bridge was formerly composed of a
level floor, carried along wooden piers, except in the centre, where a
massive pillar of stone, dividing Gloucester and Monmouth, was the
support. Afterwards, however, stone piers were substituted for those on
the Monmouth side, before the two counties joined in the erection of the
present noble structure.
"According to tradition," says Mr. Coxe, "the bridge of the Wye was
formerly half a mile above the present bridge, at a place called Eddis,
nearly opposite to the alcove in Piercefield grounds, and seemingly in a
direction leading towards an ancient encampment which encircles the
grotto. The remains of the abutments are said to have been visible in
the memory of some of the present generation; and the vestiges of a
pitched road were recently found in digging near the spot. I walked to
the spot, but could not discern the smallest traces of the ancient
bridge, and the ground on which the pitched road was discovered was
planted with potatoes. I was, however, amply gratified for my
disappointment by the pleasantness of the walk by the side of the river,
the beauty of the hanging woods of Piercefield, and the picturesque
appearance of the castle."
The castle of Chepstow is said by some antiquaries, to have been built
originally by Julius Caesar; which is denied by others, on the reasonable
grounds, that Julius Caesar never was there, and that Roman reliques,
although abundant in the neighbourhood, have never been discovered in the
town. However this may be, the name by which it is at present known, is
Saxon, and denotes a place of traffic; and Leland traces at least its
prosperity to its situation being favourable for commerce. "The towne of
Chepstowe," says he, "hath been very strongly walled, as yet well doth
appere. The walles began at the grete bridge, over the Wy, and so came
to the castel; the which yet standeth fayer and strong, not far from the
ruin of the bridge. A grete lykelyhood ys, that when Carguen began to
decay, then began Chepstow to flourish, for yt standeth far better, as
upon Wy there ebbing and flowing, by the Rage coming out of the Severn,
so that to Chepstowe may come grete shippes."
The castle, as we have said, crowns the brow of a precipice, forming here
the right bank of the Wye; and its walls, on the northern side, are so
close to the edge as to seem nothing more than a prolongation of the
rock. The rest of the fortress was defended by a moat and its own lofty
towers.
The area was divided into four courts. The first, which is entered by a
Norman gateway, contained the grand hall, the kitchen, and other
apartments, on a scale of considerable grandeur. At the south-eastern
angle of this court is the keep, or citadel, now called Harry Marten's
Tower. The second court contains no architectural remains, except the
walls; but in the third is a remarkable building, usually designated as
the chapel. It seems to have formed one magnificent apartment, probably
with a gallery running along the sides. The fourth court was separated
from the rest by a moat, which was crossed by a drawbridge. Whether a
former building stood here or not, William Fitzosborn, earl of Hereford,
is said in Domesday Book to have built the castle of Chepstow. It was
inherited by his third son Roger de Britolio, who was deprived of his
estates, and condemned to perpetual imprisonment for rebellion. The
fierce character of this Norman baron is well illustrated in the
following anecdote preserved by Dugdale.
"Though he frequently used many scornful and contumelious expressions
towards the king, yet he was pleased, at the celebration of the feast
of Easter in a solemn manner (as was then used), to send to this earl
Rodger, at that time in prison, his royal robes, who so disdained the
favour, that he forthwith caused a great fire to be made, and the
mantle, the inner surcoat of silk, and the upper garment, lined with
precious furs, to be suddenly burnt. Which being made known to the
king, he became not a little displeased, and said, '_Certainly he is
a very proud man who has thus abused me_; _but_, _by the brightness
of God_, _he shall never come out of prison as long as I live_.'
Which expression was fulfilled to the utmost, for he never was
released during the king's life, nor after, but died in prison."
In the reign of Henry I., we find Chepstow in the possession of the Clare
family; of whom Richard de Clare, surnamed, like his father, Strongbow,
is famous for his Irish adventures. 'At the solicitation of Dermot
Macnagh, king of Leinster, who had been dethroned by his rival Roderic
the Great, king of Connaught (for there were then five kings in Ireland),
he proceeded to that country with twelve hundred men, to espouse the
cause of the unfortunate potentate: being offered, in the spirit of the
age, his daughter for a wife, and his kingdom for an inheritance.
Strongbow landed at Waterford in 1171; married the princess; and his
father-in-law dying at the very moment demanded by poetical justice,
conquered his promised kingdom, and took possession of Dublin the
capital. The romance, however, was spoiled by Henry II., who, in high
dudgeon at this presumption of a subject, confiscated his estates, and
carried an army over to Ireland, with the purpose of annexing Leinster to
the English crown. Strongbow submitted; abandoned Waterford and Dublin
to his feudal master; was restored to his estates, and made constable of
Ireland. His character is thus described by Giraldus Cambrensis:
"This earle was somewhat ruddie and of sanguine complexion and
freckle face, his eyes greie, his face feminine, his voice small, and
his necke little, but somewhat of high stature: he was verie
liberall, corteous, and gentle; what he could not compass or bring to
passe in deed, he would win by good word and gentle speeches. In
time of peace he was more redie to yield and obeie than rule and
beare swaie. Out of the campe he was more like to a souldier
companion than a captaine or ruler; but in the camp and in the warres
he carried with him the state and countenance of a valiante captaine.
Of himselfe he would not adventure anie thing; but being advised and
set on, he refused no attempts; but for himselfe he would not rashlie
adventure or presumptuouslie take anie thing in hand. In the fighte
and battell he was a most assured token and signe to the whole
companie, either to stand valiante to the fight, or for policie to
retire. In all chances of warre he was still one and the same manner
of man, being neither dismaied with adversitie, or puffed up with
prosperitie."
By the marriage of a daughter of Richard Strongbow (who had no male
issue) our castle next came into the hands of one of the greatest men of
his time, William, marshal of England, lord protector of the kingdom; and
by the marriage of his daughter (for although he had five sons they all
died without issue), it fell to Hugh Bigod, earl of Norfolk. This
daughter was Maud, remarkable for having been in her widowhood created
_marshal_ in virtue of her descent, the king himself, Henry III.,
solemnly giving the truncheon into her hands. She was buried in Tintern
Abbey in 1248, her body being carried into the choir by her four sons.
After changing hands several times, Chepstow Castle appears to have been
_sold_ to the earl of Pembroke; whose heiress Elizabeth conveyed it by
marriage, as we have already had occasion to relate, to Sir Charles
Somerset, afterwards earl of Worcester. Churchyarde mentions the fact of
the sale in his uncouth rhymes.
"To Chepstowe yet, my pen agayne must passe,
When Strongbow once (an earl of rare renown),
A long time since, the lord and maister was
(In princly sort) of casle and of towne.
Then after that, to Mowbray it befell,
Of Norfolke duke, a worthie known full well;
Who sold the same to William Harbert, knight,
That was the earle of Pembroke then by right."
During the civil wars, this place was considered of great importance.
"At first, Chepstow was garrisoned for the king, until in 1645,
Colonel Morgan, governor of Gloucester, at the head of three hundred
horse and four hundred foot, and assisted by the mountaineers, with
little difficulty made himself master of the town, and in a few days
compelled the governor, Colonel Fitzmorris, to surrender the castle.
But the castle was afterwards surprised by the loyalists, under Sir
Nicholas Hemeys, who, in the absence of the governor, by means of a
secret correspondence, obtained possession of the western gate, and
made the garrison prisoners of war. On this event Cromwell marched
against it in person, took possession of the town, but assailed the
castle without success, though garrisoned only by a hundred and sixty
men. He then left Colonel Ewer, with a train of artillery, seven
companies of foot, and four troops of horse, to prosecute the siege.
But the garrison defended themselves valiantly, until the provisions
were exhausted, and even then refused to surrender under promise of
quarter, hoping to escape by means of a boat, which they had provided
for that purpose. A soldier of the parliamentary army, however, swam
across the river, with a knife between his teeth, cut the cable of
the boat, and brought it away; the castle was at length forced, and
Sir Nicholas Hemys and forty slain in the assault. This event was
considered by the parliament so important, that the captain who
brought the news was rewarded with fifty pounds, and a letter of
thanks was sent to Colonel Ewer and the officers and soldiers engaged
in that service."
In 1645, the castle, with the other estates belonging to the marquis of
Worcester, were settled upon Oliver Cromwell, but were given back to the
family at the restoration.
"For thirty years secluded from mankind,
Here Marten lingered. Often have these walls
Echoed his footsteps, as with even tread
He paced around his prison. Not to him
Did nature's fair varieties exist:
He never saw the sun's delightful beams,
Save when thro' yon high bars he pour'd a sad
And broken splendor."
All this, it now appears, is a poetical exaggeration, and the thirty
years' captivity (diminished to twenty years) passed away as easily as
the sense of captivity would permit. The regicide was permitted to spend
his property as he pleased, to enjoy the association of his wife, to
receive visits, and even to return them in the neighbourhood, accompanied
by a guard.
Marten was one of the most zealous of those men who cast down the statue
of royalty from a pedestal, upon which, although re-erected, it can never
again stand securely of its own strength unsupported by public opinion.
He does not appear to have been himself of irreproachable character, but
he was honest at least in theory, and true to his principles, such as
they were.
"Being authorised," says Anthony Wood, "by parliament, about 1642, he
forced open a great iron chest, within the college of Westminster, and
thence took the crown, robes, sword, and sceptre belonging anciently to
king Edward the Confessor, and used by all our kings at their
inaugurations; and with a scorn greater than his lusts and the rest of
his vices, he openly declared that there should be no farther use of
those toys and trifles, and in the jolity of that humour he invested
George Wither (an old puritan satyrist) in the royal habiliments; who
being crowned and royally arrayed (as well right became him) did first
march about the room, with a stately garb, and afterwards with a thousand
apish and ridiculous actions exposed those sacred ornaments to contempt
and laughter."
Marten was a member of the high court of justice, regularly attended the
trial, was present when sentence was pronounced, and signed the warrant
of death. It is added, that when Cromwell took up the pen to sign, he
spattered some ink upon Marten; and Marten, when his turn came, returned
the frolic! The two friends, however, were enemies at last. Cromwell
would have made himself king if he had been able, but Marten said, "If
they must have a king, he had rather have had the last than any gentleman
in England; he found no fault in his person, but in his office." When
the regicides who surrendered to the king's proclamation were condemned,
they claimed mercy on the score of having given themselves up in order to
save their lives; and Marten, always forward and fearless, added, "that
he had never obeyed any proclamation before this, and hoped that he
should not be hanged for taking the king's word now." He was at length
condemned to perpetual imprisonment, but both in the Tower and in
Chepstow Castle he was treated with great lenity. He died of apoplexy in
the twentieth year of his confinement, and seventy-eighth of his age. He
was buried in the chancel of the parish church at Chepstow, and a stone,
with an inscription written by himself placed over his body. This was
removed, however, to another part of the church, by the pious loyalty of
a succeeding vicar; but the stone being defaced, a new one was
substituted, by order of the churchwardens, in 1812, with the original
epitaph.
Here,
September the 9, in the year of our Lord 1680,
Was buried a true Englishman,
Who in Berkshire was well known
To love his country's freedom 'bove his own,
But living immured full twenty year,
Had time to write, as does appear,
HIS EPITAPH.
H ere, or elsewhere (all's one to you, to me),
E arth, air, or water, gripes my ghostly dust;
N o one knows how soon to be by fire set free.
R eader, if you an oft-tried rule will trust,
Y ou will gladly do and suffer what you must.
M y life was spent in serving you,
A nd death's my pay (it seems), and welcome too;
R evenge destroying but itself, while I
T o birds of prey leave my old cage and fly.
E xamples preach to th' eye, care then (mine says)
N ot how you end, but how you spend your days.
The church was part of the chapel of a priory of Benedictine monks,
founded here soon after the Conquest; and is interesting from its
architecture, being for the greater part in the early Norman style, but
with ornamented gothic windows--and a tower adorned by the taste of the
present age with Greek pilasters!